The Second Young Master’s Obedient Husband : Chapter 1

In the deep autumn of Mian Village, the wind was always strong, and today the weather was poor, the sky a dull grey.

Su Qingyu squatted before the stove, adding a dry stick of firewood to the hearth. The firelight illuminated that small, palm-sized face, a delicate appearance entirely different from the north, carrying the gentle grace unique to the southern water towns. A faint red birthmark of fertility rested at the corner of his eye, and the worry between his brows never seemed to dissipate. The medicine pot on the stove bubbled and steamed, the bitter smell mixing with wood smoke to fill the room.

Gazing at the red-hot stove, the north wind bleak and desolate, rattling the windows, looking at the dilapidated state of the home, Su Qingyu sometimes could not help but recall the carefree days of his childhood.

Su Qingyu’s family had originally lived in a small township in the south, raising silkworms and reeling silk for a living. Su Mother was exceptionally skilled at embroidery, and with both parents working together, they gradually managed to save enough to open a small cloth shop in the town. At that time the family was fairly well off, and those were Su Qingyu’s most carefree days.

Later, the south suffered flooding and then political turmoil in the court. They fled north as refugees for several years. The elderly in the family could not endure the hardship and passed away, leaving only Su Qingyu and his parents to settle in Mian Village. They used their remaining savings to buy a few mu of farmland to barely make ends meet. After the court situation stabilized, the government allocated a few mu of wasteland to refugee families based on the number of people in each household. Father learned to farm, but the family had few laborers, so they spent a considerable amount of their savings to buy an ox to help with the work. Southern embroidery fetched higher prices here, so Mother worked on embroidery day and night to supplement the family income. Fortunately, the family worked together with all their might, and life gradually improved. Su Qingyu grew from a half-grown child into the most beautiful young man in the village.

Unfortunately, Father’s health collapsed from years of overwork. His funeral had just been held a few days ago, and now Mother’s health had also collapsed. With winter approaching and a wind chill infection on top of everything, blow after blow had left the family with little remaining savings.

From the inner room came suppressed coughing, one fit after another, as if trying to cough up a lung, pulling Su Qingyu back to the dilapidated kitchen.

Su Qingyu stood up, carrying the freshly brewed medicine into the inner room. On the earthen kang, Su Mother leaned half against the wall, covered by that old cotton quilt. The quilt cover was embroidered by Su Mother herself with interlocking lotus flowers, still made from fabric brought from the south. Now the lotus flowers had been worn until their colors were unrecognizable, patched in several places. Her complexion was sallow, her eye sockets sunken, and those once gentle eyes were now veiled with a misty grey film.

“Mother, time for your medicine.” Su Qingyu sat by the edge of the kang, carefully blowing on the medicine broth.

Su Mother fumbled to take the bowl, her hands shaking so badly that some of the medicine spilled out. The broth was bitter, and her long-empty stomach protested. Su Mother choked slightly, then drank the entire bowl of bitter medicine in one go.

Su Qingyu bit his lip, looking at Su Mother’s grey and defeated appearance, his eyes rimming red immediately. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words could not keep someone who was meant to leave. He had learned that bitter lesson well enough when Father passed. Su Qingyu set the bowl on a small stool beside the bed, sat by the bedside, and held Su Mother’s withered hand, hanging his head in silence.

“The rice at home…”

“There is still some,” Su Qingyu answered softly. In truth, the rice had run out yesterday. Su Mother fell silent, turning her face away and asking no more. Only her dried hand gripped Su Qingyu’s hand, that hand so thin it was nothing but bone, pressing painfully. After a long while, Su Mother sighed, and tears seeped from her sunken eye sockets, rolling down the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“Yu, ah. Open the trunk.”

In the trunk at the foot of the kang lay a bundle and an exquisite nanwood box. The bundle was made of blue cloth, embroidered with small flowers, tied tightly and securely.

“Those are a few pieces of fabric I saved in my youth, and two embroidery patterns.” Su Mother caught her breath, her chest heaving heavily. “Tomorrow take them to the county town, find Cloth Shop Manager Zhou. He recognizes my work and will give a good price. The bracelets, pawn those too.” Su Qingyu froze, pressing his lips tightly together, tears falling. The wooden box had once been full of jewelry, and now only a pair of silver bracelets remained, slender ones engraved with twin lotus flower patterns, already tarnished black. Those were Father’s betrothal gift to Mother.

In childhood, Su Mother would always hold Su Qingyu and tell stories of the past. When Su Mother and Su Father had first married, they too had been poor. That pair of bracelets was what Su Father had earned by carrying heavy loads at the docks for several months. Su Mother was the first young woman in the township to wear silver bracelets before even getting married.

“And that cotton-padded jacket in the cabinet, your father didn’t wear it many times, it’s still new, it can be exchanged for a few coins too. Take it to sell tomorrow as well.” Su Mother said, “Sell it for whatever you can get, exchange it for some grain to bring back. Winter is still long.”

“Mother,” Su Qingyu interrupted, his throat tight. “I won’t sell it.”

Su Mother was startled, then began to cough, shaking all over. Su Qingyu hurried over to support her, patting her back, and only after a good while did she calm down.

“You child,” Su Mother said, gasping, “why so stubborn.”

Su Qingyu said nothing, only pulling the quilt up to cover Su Mother’s shoulders. Su Mother paused, closed her eyes and breathed for a long while, then opened them again to look at the ceiling. The ceiling was dark and mottled, with several places that had leaked rain before, patched with mud, the marks dark in some spots and light in others.

“Your father, in this lifetime, never enjoyed a single day of happiness,” Su Mother said, her voice drifting, “in his youth he finally managed to save enough for a cloth shop, then the famine came. From south to north, how many blood blisters formed on the soles of his feet. When he finally got here and settled down, the land wasn’t even properly cultivated before he was gone…” As she spoke, tears fell again from those sunken eyes.

Su Qingyu poured a bowl of warm water, helping Su Mother catch her breath. After she recovered, Su Mother was exhausted and closed her eyes again. Su Qingyu wiped away her tears, tucked the quilt corners tightly, and left the inner room.

Returning to his own small room, Su Qingyu calculated that the copper coins remaining at home were enough to buy two days’ worth of rice, but they still owed the medicine shop three hundred wen for medicine. Su Qingyu wrapped himself in his small quilt, his mind full of worries and grievances, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Grey-white light filtered through the window paper; dawn was approaching.

Perhaps because his thoughts were too chaotic, Su Qingyu had strange dreams all night. When he woke, dark circles showed under his eyes, making that birthmark of fertility appear even more prominent. He got up and washed his face with cold water to clear his head, rinsed his mouth, changed into that old padded jacket washed until it was pale, tucked the bundle into his chest, and went to check the kitchen. The rice jar was indeed completely empty.

Pushing open the wicker gate, the morning mist had not yet dispersed. The village path was damp, and each step left a shallow imprint.

Su Qingyu walked with his head down toward the east of the village, his steps somewhat hurried. Passing by the village head’s large compound of blue-brick houses, he caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye emerging from a small courtyard on the side.

Tall and slender, with handsome brows and eyes, carrying a bow and arrows, two pheasants hanging at his waist. It was Liang Yu.

Liang Yu saw Su Qingyu and paused briefly. Those eyes swept across Su Qingyu’s face, dark and without much ripple, then shifted away. He strode off toward the village outskirts, his figure quickly disappearing into the morning mist.

Su Qingyu stood in place for a moment, stunned, before continuing on his way.

Translation Notes:

Kang (土炕): A traditional heated bed made of brick or adobe, common in northern Chinese homes. It is heated by a stove or fire beneath it, essential for surviving cold winters.

Mu (亩): A traditional Chinese unit of area, approximately 1/15 of a hectare or about 666.7 square meters.